The Tablet That Spoke the Truth

I let my teenage son divide time between our homes after my divorce. He returned quietly with a new tablet one weekend. He murmured, “Dad said I needed it for school. I froze after checking settings.
It linked to a “Court Defense” account. My kitchen was the first image in the photo gallery, with the timestamp of last Thursday, when I was at work and my son was meant to be with his father.
I tapped the following few photos. My living room. My room. Even in my medical cabinet. All from Thursday. My stomach twisted. Someone was peeping and taking images in my home without my knowledge. My son was on the couch, staring at the TV, but I could see he wasn’t watching.
“Did you take these photos, honey?” Sitting beside him, I inquired gently.
Shaking his head. “No. Dad wanted to verify the camera’s functionality. He advised leaving it at your house for a few hours.”
It was confirmed. My ex put the tablet in my home, using our son as a pawn. Probably looking for evidence to use against me in court. The name “Court Defense” says it all. Though my hands were shaking, I breathed deeply. I didn’t want to terrify or guilt my son.
I hugged him and said, “Thanks for being honest.” Not your fault.”
After he fell asleep, I researched. I didn’t know tech, but Terry, Nina’s husband, did. I gave him the medication the next morning. He clicked about quietly before looking at me.
“This has been remote-accessed several times. Through it, someone watched. A hidden folder exists. Want me to open?
Heart plummeted. “Yes,” I answered.
My house had dozens of audio recordings from different rooms. I called friends, my sister, and cried about the divorce. Terry appeared distressed. It’s illegal surveillance. You could report.”
I nodded. I wished. But I knew my ex—Greg—was a slick talker, charming in court, and always ahead. He’d deny everything and say I planted it. This was the line. He crossed.
I phoned Vanessa, my no-nonsense lawyer, who warned me Greg would play dirty. She was furious when I told her about the tablet. “This is gold,” she said. “But we must handle it carefully. Avoid confrontation. Let me handle legal matters.”
So I didn’t address Greg. Though I was boiling, I smiled and acted normal for pick-ups and drop-offs. Weeks passed. Vanessa requested all surveillance equipment in a discovery motion. Greg resisted as expected.
The twist followed.
A stranger sent me an email a week before our court appearance. Timestamped, tablet-shot footage was clear as day. I saw Greg put the tablet under my living room couch cushion. He stared at the lens before leaving.
I was dumbfounded at the screen. Someone had brought me proof that Greg had planned everything. This was sent to Vanessa immediately.
She called me 10 minutes later. “This is a game-changer,” she remarked. We have proof of purpose and action. Should the court see this, it could backfire on him.”
I have no idea who submitted it. Only the video was there—no signature, hint, or message. I thought Greg had asked a conscience-driven helper. He may have crossed someone too many times. I was thankful.
From the start, Greg’s lawyer appeared nervous in court. Vanessa showed the judge the video and synchronized tablet logs, hardening his expression. Greg tried to frame it as a misunderstanding, test, or failed parenting tool.
The judge didn’t believe it.
“This is a serious breach of privacy,” she stated sharply. “And co-parenting trust abuse.”
Greg had to turn over all equipment used. He received supervised visitation until further evaluation. I got unrestricted main custody.
After court, I felt lighter than in months. The win was bittersweet. My son liked his dad, therefore I didn’t want him to dislike him. I wanted to shield him and myself.
As we cooked dinner, my kid said, “Did I do something wrong by bringing that tablet?”
I kneeled beside him and looked him in the eye. No, sweetheart. Did everything right. You were honest. That’s the bravest thing somebody can do.”
He nodded, then said something memorable. “Sometimes it’s hard to know who’s telling the truth.”
Hugged him. “Yeah. We try to be the ones who do.”
Weeks became months. Greg’s actions seems to quiet down. I never learned who sent that video. They were my theories. Rachel contacted me on Instagram. Her message was memorable, but her name wasn’t.
I hope you’re okay. Used to date Greg. I found something on his drive and thought you should know.”
I thanked her and invited her to talk, but she rejected. Said she looked enough. “He did the same thing to me,” she wrote. “Just glad someone stopped him.”
It hit me hard. The pattern was Greg’s, not mine. Perhaps I’ll be the last.